Margarette (Violet) by Johi Jenkins, K LeMaire Read Free Book Online

man.”
    Tommy turns his body away reluctantly, his head
lingering back as long as he can. He smiles facing away from her; her body is
etched into his mind.
    “So why haven’t we hung out before?” he asks.
    “I typically avoid vapid men like you.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “You’re not my type.”
    Tommy chuckles, then pauses. “What does vapid mean?”
    “Ugh…” she groans.
    “What? Everyone likes me.”
    “Great. Go hit on everyone then. I like modest
men. Humble to a fault.”
    “Losers,” Tommy says with a chuckle. “If you don’t
stand up for what you believe in, then no one will.”
    “In other words, if everyone agreed with that…
then there wouldn’t be a need to stand up for anything.”
    He smiles, then stops smiling. “Wait, what?”
    “Oh, never mind.”
    He finds a welcome distraction seeing her change
in the window’s reflection.
    “Where… where do you work?” he asks her.
    “Where do you work?” she counters, to avoid
his question; but she already knows where he works. In fact, he told her just
this week.
    “At the bank for my father,” Tommy answers anyway.
    “And what does the bank do?”
    “We hand out loans for the people of this town so
that they can buy the things they need.” He pauses for a second, as if trying
to remember what he does at work. “And I help manage accounts for wealthy
people and simplify their lives.”
    “That’s decent of you. Rich people are far too
busy already.”
    “I know,” he says, glad to get her to agree on
something. “So what do you do during the day?”
    “I read.”
    “Read what?”
    “Anything and everything.”
    “How do you make money?”
    “I don’t, I’m poor.”
    “Your parents?”
    “Them too.”
    “They read?”
    “No, they’re just poor, Tommy.” She sighs. “Can
you take me home now?”
    She stands clothed, but is far from dressed. The
edge of the dress is folded and torn from the edge of the car. Margarette doesn’t
remember that exactly, and imagines something dark happening in a backroom at
the party. She’s not sure if it is a real memory or what she invented in her
head.
    Tommy’s tone changes abruptly to surprise. “How
did you get my knife?”
    She turns and looks at him with a blank expression.
He’s holding her knife partially open and then clicks it closed. She stands
defensively with her arms crossed.
    “How do you know it’s your knife?”
    “Oh, this is my knife. Why didn’t you return it at
the pump?”
    She waits for an eternity and exhales the truth.
There must have really been some truth drugs in her system. “I thought I would
get to meet you by returning it.”
    “Meet me? I thought you didn’t like people like
me.” He’s surprised with her answer.
    “I don’t like people like you for one reason.” She
looks down diverting from his eyes.
    “Yeah? What’s that?” Tommy asks.
    She looks up quickly. “I don’t like the way you
look down at me.”
    He continues looking exactly as he did without
breaking eye contact. “How do you claim to know how I look at you? I don’t look down at you.”
    “If I wasn’t here now because of some random series
of events, I don’t think you’d look at me at all.” Margarette justifies.
    “That’s not true at all.”
    “I think I made a mistake,” she says, ignoring his
answer.
    “I’ve failed to impress?”
    “You never really had a chance. You were born that
way.”
    “Well, perhaps I can change your mind.” He
gestures for her to take the knife from his hand.
    Margarette smiles, but continues in a weak voice. “I
assume you only want me for one thing.”
    “I feel the same way.”
    She raises an eyebrow. “What could I ever get from
you?”
    “Well, my knife, apparently,” he says impishly.
    “Charming.” She is unimpressed, but has his knife
back. Her knife.
    She puts her arm on an antique ivory table top and
balances herself. Her other hand rises to her flushed cheek and forehead. She stares
at her own